Fogged Mirror
by of quills on parchment
Summary: For KHR Kink Meme; "Tsuna worships, Tsuna hurts, Tsuna loves, Tsuna breaks, and as always, Giotto only smiles and succumbs." Warnings: I butcher their characterizations so badly.


Disclaimer: Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn! does not belong to me, and really, should it did, things would get a lot more implicative than they already are. Actually, they'd be canon. (~3)~

A/n: Right. Uhm. Do forgive the utter failure of this amateur writer. This is another fill for the KHR Kink Meme. It's prompt was simply, _"HDW!Tsuna x Tsuna x Giotto". _Also, I was incapable of making the two sides of Tsuna separate beings, so I sort of… unintentionally made the little rabbit schizophrenic.

This pretty much can't happen at the normal timeline either… so pretend that this occurred sometime after Tsuna officially became the boss like you can pretend, I ask you, that Giotto's capable of materializing from the Sky Ring. Yeah.

~~also considering taking requests. Please read bottom notes! Thanks~

Warnings: blood, sex, possible physical abuse, mind fucking, masturbation, slight sadism and masochism and whatnot.

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**Fogged Mirror**

**By Assiah**

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The mirror had already fogged.

Tsunayoshi lied in the ceramic tub, his shoulders down submerged in the steaming, hot bathwater. His head thrown back, his eyes closed and his lips parted, he breathed heavily, a fine flush on his cheeks. Clear droplets trickled from his temple as where the wet brown locks of his tousled hair framed his face. The very same rivulets of water obscured everything, making the marble walls and flooring moist, the intricacy of its interior designs masked.

Blearily, he opened his eyes, though they remained somewhat hooded, as his chest heaved and his Will glittered fiercely beneath the amber color of his haunted gaze. _**Let me go, let me free…**_ the voice of his subconscious hissed, and the Tenth Vongola felt his skin prickle, his body shivering despite the heat.

Tsuna's hands that were gripping the rim of the tub tightened greatly, his knuckles turning white, and his breaths came out shallow, harsh and deep. Images flowed into his mind, insistent and biting, pervading whatever remnants of solitude to muse he had left, and on his finger, as if mocking him, the Sky Vongola Ring glinted innocently.

Groaning, he slid his eyes shut, raising a hand to his face, pushing back his damp locks. He remembered, and he gritted his teeth—so annoying it was; how it played in his mind: how that very same hand caressed smooth, feverish skin, his fingers teasing his spectral lover mercilessly. He could practically hear, at that moment, the pretty blonde's surprised gasp, feel the tremulous shivers of the other's pliant body.

The brunette exhaled deeply, a frown on his quivering lips, and with an irritated grunt, hurled his fist to the still waters, splashing it everywhere. His cheeks were a dark red, both from arousal and frustration, his eyes dilated for the same reasons. His knees quickly emerged from the water's ripples, as he curled his legs to himself. He could clearly see his own body, in his mind's eye, looming over the other, and Giotto, lovely, beautiful Giotto, always regal, always powerful—always so unattainable, would smile and succumb to his descendant's many illicit desires.

As always.

But Tsuna knew, no matter how much he memorized every expression of delighted pain and helpless pleasure, every contour and detail of pale, naked skin, the First Vongola was not his. He could never make the other truly his.

_**Then let me**_, the voice coaxed, commanding and eager. _**Let me touch him. Let me mark him.**_ Tsuna growled, shaking like a leaf in the warm waters, his erection throbbing painfully as new images, new sensations brutally raped his mind. _No_, Tsuna snarled, gulping for breath, as he wrapped a shaking hand around his sex, choking on a moan helplessly. Shamefully. _You hurt him._

_You make me hurt him._

And indeed, he had. He always did, in their foul, clandestine meetings, because, however brief, however rushed, however passionate and genuine they might be, Giotto always submitted, always gave, always bruised, always bled. He always surrendered everything, and never once complained of the brutality. Mortified, Tsuna knew these thoughts only made him harder. The voice scoffed. _**You like it when you dominate him. **_

A pregnant pause; more for the dramatics than its actual intention.

_**When he belongs to us.**_

_**He's ours. He's ours. He's ours, **_the voice in his head, his possessive mafia-esque self insisted with his cold, lustful litany, hissing and spitting like a caged, agitated feline, its claws bared, its tail swishing back and forth. _**He's ours. He's our ancestor—our family; our lover. He surrendered himself to us. He gave himself to us. He never denied us—he is ours. Ours. Ours. Ours. Make him know that. He is ours.**_Tsuna moaned, awfully aroused, fisting his leaking erection harshly, choking on his breaths and spittle, urged by the suggestions and demands of his Will, and the memory of ghostly touches, of non-existent kisses---and burning, consuming inferno. He would have screamed.

Because his skin kept tingling, shivering in eerie pleasure; the memory of Giotto's fleeting touch so fresh on his mind. His skin was hot with burning shame and scorching arousal. Images of himself and the First Vongola on the expansive king-sized canopy bed violently wracked his soul.

* * *

It cannot be helped, Tsuna tried to defend himself, throwing his head back in a strangled moan. He saw it so vividly, how he had pulled the other in a bruising kiss, forcing the other down hard against the silken sheets. He had heard Giotto moan, helplessly against his mouth—he had felt the burn of that kiss as his own strong, calloused hands gripped Giotto's waist harshly, his fingers digging unto pale, unblemished skin. Like a detached observer—no, as that phantom voyeur, Tsuna had watched as he, himself pulled away, a trail of saliva dangling from between their lips.

And deep inside, Tsuna could not deny that his heart beat went erratic when he had seen Giotto follow, be it subconsciously or otherwise, bothered with their lack of proximity. The older man's stunning golden eyes were dazed and filled with such wanton lust; Tsuna had just wanted to hold him. "Mmphm…" he had heard him whimper, "…Tsunayoshi—Tsuna, …"

Giotto was so beautiful, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted. His skin had been feverish, and he knew his body had enjoyed it as he had watched himself pin down the Italian blonde with his own weight, pressing sweet, amorous kisses on his neck and shoulders. Giotto had unabashedly moaned—nobody would be able to hear them, anyway, beyond the thick walls of the Sky's master bedroom. He had his head thrown back, exposing the delectable smooth breadth of his neck. His lips had quivered and his hair had majestically framed his handsomely beautiful features, sweat making them damp and clingy, bringing forth the image of a darling, acquiescent lover.

And said lover had been panting, so preciously needy. His toes had curled desperately while he had gulped for breath, and choking, Giotto had screamed, mewling incoherently, his body almost rising from the bed, as Tsuna watched, transfixed with the mannerism of how his own fingers were forced harshly within.

Tsuna had to muffle his own whines of disgraceful excitement, trembling even more as he stared, fascinated at how roughly he had treated the First. His breath quickening, he, himself, unguided by the strength of his Will, had never been so brutal, so unkind. He knew it must have hurt, given the way the First had thrashed in his arms, his lithely muscled legs quaking with the pain.

Still, God above, his flesh had been so hot, so burning hot. It had been as if Tsuna was burning, burning so horrendously pleasantly at the stake in the pyre, and screaming graciously at the heavens in gratitude. It had been thrilling, watching himself like this; watching himself dominate someone as ethereally beautiful, someone as unfathomably powerful as his ancestor like this.

And Giotto, ever devoted and picturesque Giotto had pushed against his broad shoulders, his blunt nails digging unto its tender skin. An expression of exhilarating pain had been on his face, his brow furrowed, his eyes slid shut, and his lips parted. He was panting almost like a bitch in heat. A trickle of spittle had dribbled down his chin, and the blonde had whined unintelligibly, shaking his head from side to side, forcing the brunette to lavish his face with kisses, as if trying to ease him. Even so, the First Vongola had screamed his throat raw in vicious euphoria as four fingers were shoved cruelly into his arse.

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Tsuna moaned, heavily, his hand moving faster as he collapsed forward unto the waters of the tub in an attempt to make himself seem tiny. The images he had seen, and now kept playing in his head were too much. His body trembled in rapture, his eyes glazed and his movements jerky. He could still see it with his glazed eyes

* * *

how Giotto had been bucking against those fingers, reacting to the other's dominating kisses. His whole body had wracked helplessly with his sobs—the blonde had cried. His lover had been sobbing, clinging to him like a lifeline, and pushing him away as though a single touch could burn him to ashes. And Tsuna, spellbound, had watched when he had greedily devoured Giotto's mouth till he tasted blood, curling his fingers and stretching wide the tight, hot furnace, adept at pleasuring his dear predecessor as he was in hurting him. It had been then when Giotto, whose knuckles had turned white with its grip on the sheets, had tangled his hands unto Tsuna's chocolate brown locks, his entire body tense, slamming himself against the appendages that impaled him.

His beloved Sky had come with a scream.

It was after that when the blonde had breathed deeply, pacified when the other finally took away his fingers, bringing a sweet, chaste kiss to the corner of his bleeding mouth. A fine sheet of sweat had covered his shuddering body, and the golden locks of his hair had been like a forming halo on his head, bright and asunder like his eternal flame. Tsuna was mesmerized.

He could have almost smiled. The expression on the First's face had been a genuine one of content and serenity. The quiet had been satisfying as the only sounds were the other's calming breaths. It was the kind of quiet which usually left Tsuna lazing in bed, his arms wrapped around Giotto in an affectionate embrace after a bout of their usually intense trysts.

Granted, Tsuna wasn't one for brutality, though it made their lovemaking no less passionate. He was kind, and he was gentle, and he treated Giotto as such. He treated him as though he was a precious ornament, a great treasure—one which the eyes of many were unfit to see, for its viewing was only for his own loving, tender ones. It was his tenderness, his love. And the blonde reveled in it, appreciated it for what it was. Should Tsuna be convinced that it was not simply his optimism, he would've known the matter was reciprocated in the other's sweet gaze, the other's loving kisses and the fleeting touches. It was their nameless moments of peace.

They were moments not meant to last.

Abruptly, as the other had rested, almost falling into the deep, tranquil arms of slumber, Tsuna had flipped the First on his stomach, startling him. Letting out a weak gasp, Giotto had instinctively raised himself on his hands, the wind knocked out of him as he attempted to look back at his descendant. "…Tsunayoshi…?"

"Hush," the other had whispered breathily, against the other's hair, kissing the tousle of silken blonde tresses. His hands had caressed his sides reverently, as though its touch attempted to memorize every expanse of skin, every little detail, and his lips did the same as if in immense worship, kissing, sucking and biting. Giotto was just so beautiful, lying on his stomach, his hair in disarray, and his head lying on its side. God's precious Galatea, the everlasting inferno, he was, despite the bruises that had begun to blossom on his fair skin. In retrospect, they made him all the more beautiful, in the brunette's opinion, --branded and humane, beautifully mortal in that transient way, and Tsuna's fierce, almost beastly Will had taken his time to admire it.

So did the phantom behind him, and that Tsuna had known; he had just known what was to come. The other had straddled Vongola Primo's hips while gracing the other's slender back with lustfully loving kisses, belying the fact that he had been pressing into him harshly from behind, and the Tenth Boss had watched the First widen his eyes and throw his head back in a soundless scream.

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Dripping wet and naked as the day he was born, Tsunayoshi leaned on the doorframe of the bathroom in his bedroom, lingering on that same spot he had surveyed himself dominating his lover so thoroughly.

His eyes eventually found where the other was, who had not moved from his position since the long hours the brunette had left him in: curled up on his side in his massive bed, vermillion silk sheets veiling his slender, delicate—almost frail body. They made him look so small, Tsuna observed as he approached. So small and vulnerable. Briskly, he walked, crawling unto the bed, reaching over the other as rivulets of bathwater darkened the already deep red fabric of the silk sheets.

Giotto stirred, but he did not wake, murmuring softly in his sleep. Bruises colored his exposed arm, and the shapes of fingers were stark on his wrist, but Tsuna took no notice of them as he leaned closer, his hair falling around them like a drenched earth-colored curtain while he pressed his lips sweetly unto the flesh of Giotto's shoulder.

He nuzzled the other, making him wet, and eventually, the slumbering founder did wake, and he blinked, drowsily, watching as his successor respectfully lavish his exposed skin with gentle, yet amorous kisses.

"…Tsunayoshi?"

The brunette smiled, whispering sweet nothings like promises of devotion and love and protection unto the other's feverish skin. It was almost ironic—a foolish notion. Primo did not need his protection, nor had he any desire of it, but Tsuna wanted to. He wanted to hold the other and never let go, shield him from the cruelty of the world he had desperately tried to make kinder, and Tsuna expressed all his wishes, all these hopes and desires in the words of his touch and the language of his body.

He had the blonde trapped between the cage of his arms, their bare flesh separated by the mere obstacle of a silk bedsheet. Giotto whimpered softly, wrapping numbing arms around Tsuna's neck, whispering incomprehensibly, but he knew his successor understood. He always did, even if the blonde did not wish him to.

"..Tsuna," he groaned, as the other leaned down to offer him a sweet, chaste kiss. The Italian carefully curled his legs closer to him, and was glad that the vermillion of the sheet masked the evidence of blood. But even so, its scent was unmistakable, along with the musk of sex that pervaded the air. Giotto was almost self-conscious of it and the weakness carelessly displayed on every edge of his revealed skin; those marks of ownership, but he knew, and gravely, he did not wish to let the other know, that the matters of his heart and his duty have long since blurred and he had no control over these errant feelings any longer. The fact that he was branded made him insanely happy while his pride seethed and rage within the restraints of his immortal soul.

He wanted to succumb, to completely surrender everything with no bearings of masquerades and what else. But it was something he can never let the other know.

Tsuna deepened their kiss, pushing him down harder, before eventually pulling away and grinning in that adorably boyish way of his that Giotto was so fond of. The light in his eyes was tender, even as the obvious terrifying glint of lust trapped in wedlock with it, so keeping quiet, Giotto smiled, serenely and beatifically, pulling the younger man closer, loving and hating it as he drowned even deeper as the other's raging Will glittered from beyond his eyes.

_**He is ours.**_

The mirror was left fogged.

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_**Fin.**_

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A/n: Yeah. Anyway, a few notes to settle things:

Firstly, uhm, the reason why this fic's title is _**Fogged Mirror **_is because it symbolizes the relationship of normal Tsuna and HDW!Tsuna. When a mirror is a fogged, though you can't see the reflection clearly, it's still there, yes? So, I suppose it's some sort of barrier between the two; their differences, I guess. While dame-Tsuna is kind and gentle and sweet and whatnot, HDW!Tsuna is dominant, possessive and brutal. Fact is, since this is a mirror, though somewhat different, it'll always have its similarities. Like how they both love Giotto and how they lust after him. Tsuna's just a tad more unwilling while HDW!Tsuna's eager. …So, yeah.

Secondly, Giotto is Giotto and seriously, I need to refrain from writing/drawing the guy because I just end up butchering his character. Primo-muse rages at the injustice in my head. Not my fault I really like him being taken advantage of. I don't even know why---okay, so maybe I do, but that's beside the point. I'm thinking that Tsuna here actually shares my sentiment because I do find the idea of someone as powerful as Primo being dominated. Huh. I corrupt the little rabbit, heh~

Anyways, the image of Giotto in my canon-head is well, that since he's the Ultimate, it would be natural to sort of describe him as somewhat godlike, yes? With the whole _his ruthlessness is his kindness _sort of thing. So, here, while indeed, he is like a god who is practically unattainable, but is dutiful to a fault, he would never deny the Famiglia anything, and since the Famiglia will always need its figure head, Giotto is like someone who assists, who guides and who caters to the current boss' whims. However, putting it like that, Primo is actually also human—and pretty much the most flawed of all the bosses, in my opinion, because of the shared ideal that he is like a god to the mafia. Being something so divine and unreachable, he should portray himself as something that would meet the expectations of others, so the downside of that is that he can't show any form of weakness, any sort of attachment and whatnot. While indeed, he is known to be kind, gentle, compassionate and diplomatic, he knows how to be a bastard and when to be an asshole, and most especially, he understands what it means to be empathetic while simultaneously acting apathetically.

In this fic, Tsuna just tears all of that down because unlike the other bosses, while he is also acting as though Giotto is like a god, he prefers the other as something more humane, something he can possess and take care of. Despite how much he would seem to hate the dependence Tsuna seems to want from him, Giotto actually loves it~

It's just that while Giotto may like it and may want to surrender completely to it, his duty as the First Vongola dictates otherwise.

Yeah.

I'll shut up now.

…final note, I'm also going to start taking requests. I'm more at ease with writing Giotto though, for some reason, since he's practically my muse already, but all's fair. While I also have editing the two other KHR kinkmeme fills (G69 and 1869), I still have one prompt left to do and it's SecondoxPrimo with the kink of South Park's unclefucker. Yeah. Uh… I'll go now.

Please review!


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